


stoplight

by honey_wheeler



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Daydreaming, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The car smells like him, but stronger. Like the time he loaned her his jacket and the smell of it made it seem like he was wrapped around her. She doesn’t know why her heart is thudding like this. She needs to get more sleep. Eat more vegetables.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stoplight

She’s never ridden in his car before. They're on their way to another Michael-sponsored office event. A hayride, a bonfire, something outdoorsy and stupid at a park outside the city. Roy didn’t want her to come. He’d flat-out refused to come himself, said he had better things to do. By the time he’d stormed off only Jim was left at the office to give her a ride. For a moment she thinks he waited for her on purpose and her chest hitches, but she tamps that down. They’ve been a little closer to normal lately; she doesn’t want to screw that up by freaking out or being weird or seeing things that aren’t there. It’s too strange when he’s distant, when she’s guilty.

The window is half down, mussing his hair. He’s loosened his tie, flipped open the top button of his shirt. It’s pink. Light pink. She has a soft spot for men in pink dress shirts. Roy would look silly in a pink dress shirt.

The car smells like him, but stronger. Like the time he loaned her his jacket and the smell of it made it seem like he was wrapped around her. She doesn’t know why her heart is thudding like this. She needs to get more sleep. Eat more vegetables.

They're idling at a stoplight. His hand rests on the gearshift, his long fingers absently stroking across the leather handgrip. Even as she tells herself not to, even though she knows it’s the worst thing she can do right now, she imagines what those fingers could do to her; how they could trace the skin at the hem of her skirt, inch the fabric up her thighs. Steal under the elastic at her hip. Push hard against her, inside her, make her come with barely any effort at all. The ache settles low in her hips and she shifts in her seat.

“What do you think about telepathy? Do you think it exists?” he asks, out of nowhere. She starts guiltily. In her mind his fingers are still inside her, still twisting and pushing, slick and wet and hard, and now she’s afraid he can hear her, can see straight into her head. Her cheeks grow so hot she thinks her hair might catch fire.

“Um.” Her voice is low and rough. She has to clear her throat to continue. “Why?”

“My mom thinks one of her students is communicating with her telepathically.” She realizes he’s serious, so she doesn’t laugh, not even when he gives her a look like he wouldn’t blame her.

As he talks, her eyes return to his hands. They are broad and angular, strangely graceful when he moves them. Just looking at them makes her feel tiny and delicate. Like he could wrap them around her waist and his thumbs would touch. Like she’s the fragile heroine in one of those ridiculous romance novels she pretends not to like and throws in the garbage whenever Roy manages to unearth one from beneath the bed.

“So what do you think?” His voice penetrates the fog in her head. Jesus, how can she concentrate on what he’s saying when all she wants to do is unbuckle her seatbelt, climb on top of him, and fuck him so hard neither of them can think at all?

“What? I…think about what? I’m sorry….”

“What’s with you today? Every time I look over you’re all spaced out staring at the gearshift. Just what’s going on in that evil brain of yours?”

Oh. Just thinking of your hand up my skirt. Your mouth on my skin. Pushed up against walls, hands underneath clothes, teeth and nails and begging please, oh please. Dirty, dirty things we could be doing.

“Nothing." She looks out the window, presses her forehead against the cool glass. "It’s nothing. This light has been red forever.”


End file.
